


The Language of the Birds and The Sniper's Field Manual

by Colonel-Mustang (Turdle)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Guns, Love, Military, Romance, Tattoos, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:37:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turdle/pseuds/Colonel-Mustang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hope is the thing with feathers - that perches in the soul." Companion piece to Flower Language and the Art of War, vignettes in Riza's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language of the Birds and The Sniper's Field Manual

**Author's Note:**

> “Hope” is the thing with feathers -  
> That perches in the soul -  
> And sings the tune without the words -  
> And never stops - at all -“
> 
> \- Emily Dickinson “Hope is the thing with feathers”

**Lapwing — _“Disguise the Secret”_**

At sixteen, Riza feels the lofty emptiness of the Manor when her father’s student leaves to be with his adoptive mother for New Year’s. The chill of winter has settled into the sleepy town of Ashford, and the sun falls too early, leaving Riza wide awake with only her oil lamp and a history book to keep her company.

The knock on her door breaks the crisp silence, and Berthold lets himself in, taking purposeful strides to his daughter. Riza has been waiting for this; she knows that her father has something he wants to tell her, but hasn’t yet, and she suspected that he was waiting for his pupil to leave.

“Riza,” Berthold commands softly, waiting for his daughter to set aside her book and stand at his beckoning. Riza knows that she’s going to be told something very important, very _special_ and that revelation is implicit in her Father’s drawn, dark gold eyes. The monumental feeling of the moment is compounded when Berthold brings his slender scholar’s hands to his daughters cheek, tucking back the short wisps of her hair behind her ear. “My little bird,” he continues, as affectionately as Riza has ever seen him, or ever will see him, using her once-in-awhile pet name. “-It’s time we gave you wings.”

It takes two days of lying still as the needle sinks into her skin over and over again, leaving behind bold maroon lines that sting when air skims across them. But her father is gentle, always gentle, wiping away the blood tenderly, and cleaning her skin thoroughly. It might be because he cares. Riza suspects it is because his work is that precious to him, and she understands, quietly, that his entrusting this to her is something he does because they are family.

No one else can be trusted. No one else can know.

And Riza is good at keeping secrets.

His magnum opus complete, her father smiles tiredly, dressing the tattoo before he pats her softly on the hand.

“Keep it safe,” Berthold says, laying aside the needles. “—and don’t let that boy see it. He’s not ready.”

There is the feeling of a swallowed _Not ready yet_ , in the air, and Riza nods.

**Physical Condition: _The sniper, often employed in extended operations with little sleep, food, or water, must be in outstanding physical condition._**

Riza can see why her father had been so insistent on passing on his manuscripts to her care.

When he finishes roaring at Roy to get out of the house now that he’s decided to become a Military dog, she sees everything clearly. Pain ripples across Roy’s eyes, but he’s certain about this. And so he simply turns and leaves, shutting the door of the parlor behind him. Berthold collapses forwards on the armchair, his body caught in a coughing fit as soon as his apprentice is out of sight. Riza stands, torn between rushing to her father’s aid, and walking away, until Berthold gurgles “ _Leave_.” 

Her footsteps are light against the wood floors, and she strides quickly to catch up with Roy, whose shoulders have drawn up. His fists are clenched at his sides as he makes for his room, anger making his jaw seem sharper and older. Roy starts throwing things into his trunk, and only then does Riza realize that he’s already half-packed.

A history book that Riza borrowed earlier that year gets chucked into the pile of clothes, and Riza winces at the door frame. Roy knows she’s there, but he says nothing, fury having taken his tongue.

“You know why he’s doing this.” Riza says plainly, not totally sure why he’s so upset, when he’s the one leaving to begin with. “-Why he hates the military.”

Another book is thrown to his trunk, and Roy stops, panting before he looks back over at Riza, who has curled her fingers against his open door. At first, she believes he’ll say something mature, something reasoned, but the childlike hurt comes out first, and Roy blurts - “Why doesn’t he just _teach_ me? I’ve done everything he’s _asked!”_ He pushes back messy black hair, and then glares at his luggage. “I can’t learn basic alchemy forever.”

Riza has it on the tip of her tongue, and for a moment, she thinks she could tell him. But he’s not ready, and somehow, she is certain telling him now would accomplish nothing.

Roy slumps. “I’ve mastered everything but _this_.”

“He just doesn’t think you’re ready for it yet,” Riza says quietly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“—I’ll _never_ be ready enough.” Roy counters with a huff of frustration.

Riza looks at the wood grain of the floor, and then at the soft leather penny loafers Roy is wearing. She’s trying to picture them being replaced by combat boots that lace up the fronts, but Riza’s rarely seen soldiers up close, and something about the image on Roy seems unfamiliar. “And you _won’t_ be if you leave now.”

He gives her a look that she can’t quite read, but his features are softened, and something in him has relaxed. “I have to.” He says simply.

And despite her better judgment, Riza believes him. She doesn’t know why, exactly, but Roy seems so sure that this is the right thing that she believes it too. Amber eyes flick up from the floor and glance at his gaze, giving him a firm look. “Then go.” _And don’t screw this up_.

Roy gives her a small smile and then walks over, tentatively placing a hand to her shoulder. “Thanks,” Roy says. “I-I hope to see you again.”

“You can write.” She replies, suddenly aware of the fact that he is still taller than her, but that she’s catching up, and has to strain her neck less when she looks him in the eye. He looks like he wants to say or do something, but the moment passes, and nothing happens. Roy withdraws his hand with a touch of awkwardness, and then rubs his neck sheepishly.

“Of course.”

Roy sends a handful of letters, but the truth is that he’s too busy at the Academy to say anything lengthy, and while Riza has all the time in the world to write back, she is suffering through mostly sleepless nights alone as she listens to her father’s hacking two doors down. The pantry stocks run low most days, and she’s had to dismiss the servants in order to save money for medications that her father refuses. 

There’s nothing happy to say, so Riza never says much back.

**Peacock — _“Rebirth; Vanity_ ” _  
_**

Riza Hawkeye hasn’t cried.

Her father’s illness took him slowly, and then in a single moment he was finally gone. But Riza can’t feel more than an aching disappointment in her chest. The Hawkeyes are no more, aside from her. The last connection she has to the man she called her father is the large tattoo on her back, and tears certainly won’t change anything. But her jaw aches from the effort of the sadness, and loneliness she now feels, even with Roy by her side in front of the grave.

It’s such a heavy burden to bear wings alone.

“I’m sorry, I ended up talking about my naive dream…” Roy says, turning away to flush. Even under his imposing uniform, and new military straight posture, he reminds her of the teenager studying at her father’s side. But this Roy is still unmistakably different, and she can see the shift he’s made, as if someone has taken the teen she knew and replaced him with a man.

“No.” Riza says firmly. “I think it’s a wonderful dream.” He has a purpose now. And she knows that even if this isn’t what her father was waiting for, this is the right time for Roy to learn the secrets of Flame Alchemy.

He’s ready, and she needs to share it. She can feed this dream.

“The secrets my father left behind — he said they were written in a code no ordinary alchemist could decipher.” Riza explains.

Roy is no ordinary alchemist, much less an ordinary man.

Later, back at the house, she drops her black mourning blouse to the floor, exposing her back to him. Riza knows she should feel nervous, or embarrassed, but all she can think is how freeing it is to show him her secret.

She hangs her head as he approaches, spine curving under her skin, and she nods when he asks if he can examine her closer. Roy’s hands skim over the lines with restraint and near-academic curiosity, but Riza feels the initial hesitation and her own nerves creep in for a moment.

 _She can trust him_.

So she does.

**Mission: _Whether a sniper is organic or attached, he will provide that unit with extra supporting fire._**

The neat black print on the card reads:

**Eastern Military Command Center**.  
 **1500 Central Avenue, East City.  
**

The number to the recruitment office is on the back.

There’s nowhere else to go.

But her father can’t stop her now, and she wants to live that dream she has lent her secrets to. Riza’s heart skips a beat as she thinks of it, the card trembling in her hands for a moment.

She could support him.

She knows he’ll need it, someone to support him, and maybe she’ll find her purpose in the Military too. The Manor is broken down and is hardly a home to her now, and the Military Academy might even be a significant improvement over her current state of living.

This is what’s left.

The operator on the other line connects her, and she’s calm as she recites her reason for calling.

“Hello. My name is Riza Hawkeye, and I’m interested in taking the Entrance Exam for the Officer’s Academy—”

**Hawk — _“Awareness”_**

The agony in his face when he first sees her in Ishval isn’t what hurts. That comes later, when he takes her aside in private.

“You’re supposed to be at home, you _never_ should have come here—”

He’s shaking.

“And _you’re_ supposed to be off saving the world!” She snaps in return, instantly feeling a wretched pit in her stomach at the words. She _shouldn’t_ have said it. But the resentment is there anyways.

“I don’t even know where home _is_.” Riza adds, but she’s not certain the words are still true anymore.

**Organization: _Snipers work and train in 2-man teams._**

“So you went through all that in Ishval, but in the end, you chose this path.”

Riza drops her salute.

“Yes.”

This is her purpose. Riza knows she is throwing something away, but can’t name what it exactly it is as he signs the papers recommending her to his command as his aide. Perhaps this was how Roy felt as he left her home some years ago for the first time. She _has_ to.

They can’t be the Alchemist’s daughter and the Apprentice anymore.

But she can be something else for him.

“If I step off the path, shoot and kill me with those hands. You are qualified to do that.”

And then he gives her more, a place two steps behind — “Will you follow me?”

“I’ll follow you into _hell_ if you ask me to.”

**Raven — _“Shifting, Changes”_**

This could very well be hell.

The transfer papers come while Roy is still in Central Command, and after the sun has risen, and Riza has done all she can to wait dutifully for him with the assurance that he’ll come back. _He has to come back_.

She leaves her position for only a few moments, leaving Armstrong in her place, but when she comes back, she hears his voice, and relief floods her whole being.

“—where he’s _supposed_ to meet a woman?”

“Colonel!”

She wants to examine him, to make sure he’s okay, and that they haven’t _done_ anything to him, to the _Colonel_ , but also to Roy, who is still there somewhere, the boy she protects. She can’t. Alex peers down at them both, and instead of doing anything rash, she salutes.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye, Sir. Returning from washing my hands, Sir.” Riza thanks Alex, just moments before Roy looks down at her in unfounded surprise.

“…So you didn’t run off.” He says.

“Just from who, exactly, did I once hear ‘Never give up, no matter what happens?”

This is the most she can say in front of the Major Armstrong.

**Sniper and Observer Abilities: _The Sniper makes an accurate and timely shot call_. **

“Please Colonel…” She begs. Her voice is shaking almost as hard as her hand is, and she can feel the side of the trigger against her index finger, smooth and cold and _wrong_.

She will pull it if she has to.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow!”

A sob almost wracks her body, and she can’t bear to look at the back of his head any longer. She drops her gaze, and it is his voice that she feels, deep and cutting.

“If you’re going to shoot me, shoot me. What will you do after I’m dead?”

The answer is simple. Answers always are.

“I have no intention of carrying on without you. After all of this is over I’m going to end my life and remove my secrets of flame alchemy from the world.”

Fire rips through the empty hall at his hands, tearing raggedly at the stone, bursting in a flash of light and heat next to her skin, but she doesn’t move. She can’t.

“That won’t do. I can’t — I can’t afford to lose you too.”

He lowers her gun.

**Pelican — _“Sacrifices_ ”**

Riza can hold onto one thought as blood spills from her throat over her hands.

She has only one order, and she won’t disobey it.

He won’t lose her here.

But the world is blurring in and out before her eyes, and breathing is getting harder and harder. Her chest shakes as she glares at Roy.

He hangs his head.

“ _Alright_.”

**Tentative Planning: _The sniper makes a tentative plan of how he intends to accomplish the mission. When the mission is complex and time is short, he makes a quick, mental estimate; when time is available, he makes a formal, mental estimate._**

The possibilities have run through her mind hundreds of times: he could be missing a leg, or an arm, or his internal organs. She doesn’t know what truth will have ripped from him, and despite still feeling weak on her feet from blood loss, she holds steady, hoping that he’s still safe.

When she finds him blind, she panics. Riza’s fingers move to touch his face, to feel what she cannot say, but before she can get there he asks her if she can still fight.

She is his guardian, and his eyes - an extension of himself.

They fight together, and what she might have said no longer matters.

**Heron — _“Self-Reliance”_ ; Sparrow — _“Companionship”_**

Roy can take care of himself in the hospital. That’s not why she insisted on staying in the same room as him.

She can’t leave his side, and she knows he won’t admit he fears not hearing her breathing beside him while they heal. So she remains with him.

**Selection Criteria: _The sniper must be self-reliant, display good judgment and common sense. This requires two other important qualifications: emotional balance and field craft._**

He shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t have let him into her apartment, shouldn’t have hugged him, arms circling around his shoulders. But she had to. She had to assuage his fears, and had to protect him.

  _I can’t lose you. Not after all of this. Not after coming so far, with so much further to go_. _Let me be here for you._

“Stay with me.” He says, searching for her answer.

“Always.” Riza replies.

His kiss is warm, and the sensation of it rolls down her spine, her fingers tightening their grip on his shoulder. Roy’s lips are soft, and he is tender and slow, only barely starting the deepening of the kiss before he stops, and waits for her to follow.

Shouldn’t. Wouldn’t. _Can’t._

Riza is aware her heart is still beating faster, but now it seems to be in rebellion, cracking each line of her will faster and faster. What she wants, and what is right for him are two different things, and right now, she believes she is right. She doesn’t know how to reconcile the two, and it pains her.

“ _I’m so sorry_.”

Not just yet. But soon.

**Dove — _“Peace, Hope”_**

The return to Ishval will be without war.

Riza is ready.

 _“I wanted you to know_.”

Roy Mustang, Colonel, Flame Alchemist, Apprentice — loves her.

He is home.

“ _I already did._ ”

This is the first step.

**Author's Note:**

> The Companion Piece: [Flower Language and the Art of War.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/319568)


End file.
